Through The Transoms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The suckers field their catastrophes through the
Disorganized space of baseball diamonds and birthday cakes;
And the land moves and you can feel it move:
I wonder how the birds feel it move, but they feel it;
And parks in spring wake up in bloom just as you touch
Yourself surfacing from sleep in your room-
Everybody needs a body as they disembark through the darkly
Fetching indentations of the sea:
They go sloughing through the transoms; they can’t remember me.